


Cherry Nuka

by hello_imasalesman



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25777939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hello_imasalesman/pseuds/hello_imasalesman
Summary: “You guys need another drink?” Gob asks, his voice huskier than he means for it to be.Vaultie whines. Charon tangles his fingers in his full head of hair, tugs a little.“Adam?” Charon asks.Vaultie glances over his shoulder, all big puppy-dog eyes framed by those tangles of curls that are starting to stick with sweat to his forehead. “I— I want a cherry Nuka.” He mumbles, tongue thick in his mouth. “A-and for you to join us.”
Relationships: Charon (Fallout)/Male Lone Wanderer, Charon / Gob / Male Lone Wanderer, Gob/Charon (Fallout), Gob/Lone Wanderer, Nova/Gob (mentioned)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Cherry Nuka

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a prompt from my tumblr (@civilization-illstayrighthere): charon/mlw/gob, or would that be too weird? (The answer is no, definitely, not weird.) Thanks for reading!

Charon leans back in the armchair of Gob’s Saloon. It’s the one Burke had sat in, before all that mess, back when Moriarty still ran things; there’s still bloodstains on the floorboards in front of it, in the faded fabric behind Charon’s head.

People had been put off by the bloodstains, funny enough. Gob wouldn’t have thought a wastelander could ever be put off by blood. He could only guess, maybe, that it was because it wasn’t some random shmuck killed in the apocalyptic flashbang of the nuclear apocalypse, but a testament of how close Megaton had really come to being blown to smithereens by that bomb in the center of their town. Moriarity had tired to get Gob to scrub it out, to no avail.

Now that he was the owner, Gob had decided to put a little rug over the floorboards there, and a little side table on top of that for drinks. It made that corner of the bar a little cozier, he figured, and Nova was always so good at picking these kinds of things out. She had an eye for patterns, the red and blue of the rug and the small blanket they kept folded on the back of the armchair to mask the headrest. She didn’t really know much about pre-war things, but she liked the job title Gob gave her of hostess, almost as much as she liked the title of wife.

Nova is sweet. She had kissed his cheek this morning, bright-eyed and smiling. “Remember, Gobbie,” The way she said it, always, always made his heart thump in his chest, “You are handsome. Alright? Now go have fun today.”

Gob had laughed, kissed all of the knuckles on her hand, and finally let her out of bed, if only to watch her get changed. He loved her, loved the bar they had now made their own, and Gob tells Charon all of this as he wipes down the bartop, trying not to look too moony as he does so.

Charon grunts, “She is— good.” He exhales, “Where did she go this weekend?”

Gob runs the dishrag over the bartop one last time, wiping his hands off on his apron before take it off and hanging it nearby. “Oh, the caravans were coming through this weekend. She rode along; we want to find a cook, maybe, for the bar, but nobody here other than the Stahl’s can make anything good, so she’s going to try Rivet City, maybe Underworld to find someone who’d like to come work for us.”

“Underworld?” Charon asks tightly.

“Not Greta.”

Charon flinches, “Do not—“ He sighs, his usually stony face flickering with emotion, a small crack in the seams, “Remind me.”

Gob chuckles, his eyes flitting downward. “Oh? No?”

“No—“ He’s trying to keep his voice even, his composure together. It’s hard, sitting wide-legged with his pants down to his ankles in the corner, Vaultie patiently heeled on the floor between them, his face buried in his lap. 

Vaultie breaks for air, a soft, gasping noise as he pulls off Charon’s cock, panting for breath as he sits back on his heels. The low bar light overhead and the drawn curtains throw the whole room into dusky shadows, and somehow, really make the spit on his shaft gleam, show how wet and how far Vaultie managed to take him down his throat. Nearly to the base.

Gob shifts, feels himself bump against the back of the bar. He’s nervous— he knows he’s nervous, he’s been rambling on about Nova for the past five minutes, growing achingly hard as he watches Vaultie in Charon’s lap.

“You guys need another drink?” Gob asks, his voice huskier than he means for it to be.

Vaultie whines. Charon tangles his fingers in his full head of hair, tugs a little.

“Adam?” Charon asks.

Vaultie glances over his shoulder, all big puppy-dog eyes framed by those tangles of curls that are starting to stick with sweat to his forehead. “I— I want a cherry Nuka.” He mumbles, tongue thick in his mouth. “A-and for you to join us.”

Charon says it’s for Adam’s patience, as much as it is for Gob to always have to pluck up the courage to come over, even though they’ve done this countless times before. He brings a bottle of cola, along with a straw, and Vaultie takes it with murmured thanks before sucking down a long sip of it. He places it back on the small side table that’s since been knocked aside to make room for him on the floor. Charon spreads his long legs a little wider, to accommodate Gob’s body next to Vaultie’s. He tries to give the other some space, but instead Vaultie is shuffling in, pressing side to side against Gob, his face turning. Charon’s knee knocks against Gob’s back. Not hard, but enough to get the two of them moving closer together.

“Can I— can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Gob’s voice is rough, all gravel, and he really doesn’t have to tell him twice before he’s leaning in, their lips crashing together. Adam’s only the second smoothskin he’s ever kissed after ghoulification, but the only one he knows that doesn’t tilt his head when he kisses, knows there isn’t any cartilage other than superficial for his nose to bump into.

He’s all smooth lips, smoother still because of Charon down his throat moments earlier, and though he tastes faintly like Nuka-Cola syrup he also tastes a little bit of prickling radiation, telltale ghoul musk. Gob groans into his mouth, finds his shaking hands against the soft curve of his neck, the other burying into his curls, fingers brushing against Charon’s.

Vaultie kisses with his eyes closed, sweet and overeager, anchoring himself with one hand on the front of Gob’s shirt, and the other on Charon’s knee. Gob pulls Vaultie’s bottom lip into his mouth, sucks and bites down, and he whimpers and whines, his eyes fluttering open to meet Gob’s own.

“Oh—“ His lips are looking a little puffy, red and spit-slicked. He swallows, smiles almost shyly, which is a funny thing to do, in-between Charon’s legs like this.

Charon clears his throat. Gob’s eyes move upward, to Charon’s slick cock, bobbing untouched. He’s less surprised by the sheer size of it than the first time they had done this; that first time had nearly knocked him off his feet, especially when he had asked previously and Charon had only shrugged and Vaultie primly mentioned it was _proportional_.

Even at his height, the proportions were skewed thick and long. It made more sense for it to be a two-person job.

Charon shifts his legs, lets Gob straddle his left one. He has to lean in to reach his lap, angle himself to press his groin against Charon’s shin, just enough friction as Gob licks a line up Charon’s already wet cock, up to the tip. Above him, he exhales, a soft sigh, reaching down to smooth his hand over Gob’s head. Gently, so as not to pull any remaining hair, scraping blunt nails over his scalp. He has big, thick fingers, and Gob’s never seen him anything but gentle with them ever since they both left Underworld.

Gob sucks the head of Charon’s cock into his mouth, bobbing in small motions. Vaultie, on the opposite side, leans in to mouth wetly against his shaft, his hand cupping and massaging his balls. He squeezes, and Charon’s leg jumps— the one pressed against Gob’s groin, grinding down, and he groans around him.

Gob closes his eyes, suckles intently on the head, tries not to get too embarrassed at the filthy, wet sounds he’s making in his own ears. Charon’s fingers tighten, reflexively, then smooth down, to cup the back of his neck, massage the sensitive skin there worn thin against the vertebrae.

As soon as he pulls back, Vaultie is there to take his place, lapping at the precum beading at the tip he had left behind. His lips slide down, hugging his twitching cock— Gob watches, and wonders whose breathing is more ragged, Vaultie’s or Charon’s, as he rocks himself against his leg, ruts against him in short, sharp thrusts.

He wraps his hand around the length Vaultie’s lips can’t reach, his hand moving smoothly from saliva despite the roughness of his hands, the texture of their ghoulified skin. Gob and Vaultie fall into an easy pace; his knuckles bump up against those smooth lips of his, and Charon groans, grips onto them both like a man drowning.

He almost, almost makes a noise that sounds like a protest to Gob’s ears when Vaultie pulls off, fingers noticeably twitching in Vaultie’s hair. “He’s— he’s close.” He stutters, and Charon does finally groan out his frustrated affirmative above them; he looks as close to wrecked as Gob’s ever seen him, parted lips and brows screwed up tight in pleasure, chest silently heaving.

Gob fills in the space Vaultie leaves behind, opens his mouth and swallows him down. Charon moans, places both hands on the back of Gob’s head and— doesn’t thrust, but shallowly grinds upward, his cock brushing against the back of his throat, swallowing frantically to accommodate it. When he comes, it’s silent, save for the groan of the armchair as Charon’s hips lift off from it, the sound of Vaultie humming nearby.

Gob swallows, coughs and sputters as he pulls away and wipes at the corners of his eyes. He jumps a little when his eyes open and the bottle of nuka has been thrusted in front of him; he manages to catch the straw between his lips without even having to take it from Vaultie’s hands, taking a long sip.

“Thanks…” He mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Vaultie’s pupils are blown, hair mussed, and his vault suit zipper is drawn down a little lower than it had been a moment before, “You’re welcome.” He takes the drink back, wraps his lips around the straw where Gob’s had just been, and sucks with a smile. “Ready for your turn?”


End file.
